Meeting Willy Nelson
It's been my pleasure to interview thousands of authors and celebrities over the years for radio. My first interview ever for television was with Mel Gibson. But nothing prepared me for meeting Willy Nelson.
A friend had invited me to a party of about two hundred people to meet on the lawn of a local millionaire Sunday to listen to presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich and legend Willy Nelson. The trick was getting there fast enough. I was anchoring the news until I signed off at the radio station at 5:10pm, then had to drive through two cities and a rural expanse to arrive at the party, which was billed as four until seven pm.
I ended up with two different sets of directions, put mascara and lipstick on, and hit the road. I'm one of those people with no GPS in my mind whatsoever, so when I took a turn that led me into a very rural area marked by a sign that said "conservation district," I backed out and returned to the highway. I checked the clock. Close to 6pm...and ticking. I used the other set of directions, drove the country miles as fast as I was allowed, and hit a sign that said "conservation district." Same sign. Different angle. I groaned. I'd come to the same spot from two different directions. Next time I'll just get one set. It only cost me a couple of minutes.
Angling back into the woods as directed, up a dusty, narrow road, the area suddenly widened out into a sunlit estate, with not one, but three stops with uniformed valets. I tossed my keys and a smile to the last valet, Tim, and dashed across the slate inside a covered garden.
The serenity of the garden stopped my heart. And, then I could hear Willy Nelson's music. It didn't matter that I couldn't determine which song it was. I stepped out of the garden onto the fresh-cut green lawn, and saw Willy and his family on stage. Thirty seconds later, the song was over, applause, the event over. It was only 6:10pm. But that moment filled my soul. It was enough.
My friend nowhere to be seen, I walked toward the mob surrounding Willy. People were taking photographs, crowding him tight. I walked around the perimeter three times, holding my cell phone, hoping I could get a picture, hoping someone would take a picture of me with Willy. It seemed crazy, the guests were so tightly packed around him.
Suddenly, with no warning, the crowd stepped back, the circle enlarged -- and Willy and I were in the center -- leaving about three feet of space around us. How did this happen, I wondered.
There was Willy Nelson, looking right into my eyes. Was he remembering me from some backstage event when my friends worked at a country station? I didn't think so. I was aware of my mind charting thoughts, but it was my heart that was in command.
The moment seemed eternal. Willy Nelson's kind eyes looked into mine, and time simply stopped. The sun beamed down on us, like a spotlight. Am I making this up, I thought, no, this was all true. I gave Willy Nelson my name, shook his hand, and I thanked Willy for his music.
I handed my cell phone to someone, anyone, and he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. I felt so sweetly vulnerable at that moment that I didn't even search out the camera to look into it. That I regret, but not this richly sensory time. That oddly intimate moment will stay vivid in my soul.
I'm not a star-struck kind of person. But, when someone is genuine, like Willy Nelson is, that stops time.
A friend had invited me to a party of about two hundred people to meet on the lawn of a local millionaire Sunday to listen to presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich and legend Willy Nelson. The trick was getting there fast enough. I was anchoring the news until I signed off at the radio station at 5:10pm, then had to drive through two cities and a rural expanse to arrive at the party, which was billed as four until seven pm.
I ended up with two different sets of directions, put mascara and lipstick on, and hit the road. I'm one of those people with no GPS in my mind whatsoever, so when I took a turn that led me into a very rural area marked by a sign that said "conservation district," I backed out and returned to the highway. I checked the clock. Close to 6pm...and ticking. I used the other set of directions, drove the country miles as fast as I was allowed, and hit a sign that said "conservation district." Same sign. Different angle. I groaned. I'd come to the same spot from two different directions. Next time I'll just get one set. It only cost me a couple of minutes.
Angling back into the woods as directed, up a dusty, narrow road, the area suddenly widened out into a sunlit estate, with not one, but three stops with uniformed valets. I tossed my keys and a smile to the last valet, Tim, and dashed across the slate inside a covered garden.
The serenity of the garden stopped my heart. And, then I could hear Willy Nelson's music. It didn't matter that I couldn't determine which song it was. I stepped out of the garden onto the fresh-cut green lawn, and saw Willy and his family on stage. Thirty seconds later, the song was over, applause, the event over. It was only 6:10pm. But that moment filled my soul. It was enough.
My friend nowhere to be seen, I walked toward the mob surrounding Willy. People were taking photographs, crowding him tight. I walked around the perimeter three times, holding my cell phone, hoping I could get a picture, hoping someone would take a picture of me with Willy. It seemed crazy, the guests were so tightly packed around him.
Suddenly, with no warning, the crowd stepped back, the circle enlarged -- and Willy and I were in the center -- leaving about three feet of space around us. How did this happen, I wondered.
There was Willy Nelson, looking right into my eyes. Was he remembering me from some backstage event when my friends worked at a country station? I didn't think so. I was aware of my mind charting thoughts, but it was my heart that was in command.
The moment seemed eternal. Willy Nelson's kind eyes looked into mine, and time simply stopped. The sun beamed down on us, like a spotlight. Am I making this up, I thought, no, this was all true. I gave Willy Nelson my name, shook his hand, and I thanked Willy for his music.
I handed my cell phone to someone, anyone, and he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. I felt so sweetly vulnerable at that moment that I didn't even search out the camera to look into it. That I regret, but not this richly sensory time. That oddly intimate moment will stay vivid in my soul.
I'm not a star-struck kind of person. But, when someone is genuine, like Willy Nelson is, that stops time.
Labels: authors, Dennis Kucinich, interviewer, Mel Gibson, Willy Nelson